The Evening before Twilight
by Lizzy127
Summary: The love story that came before Twilight-how Carlisle and Esme found each other then almost lost each other for eternity. Pure fluff!
1. Chapter 1

1911

It was the fall that had frightened her the most: the seconds suspended by nothing but air and the occasional tree branch pawing her body. She didn't realize until she hit the ground that she had screamed the entire way down. When she landed on her ankle and then her left knee, the pain was excruciating but bearable. _At least this is it_, Esme told herself, _You can cope with this_. It was the unknown she couldn't handle; the feeling of the freefall.

Her scream had brought everyone out of the house and they were by her side barely a beat later. Her father had gone for her collarbone and ribs first, feeling each one to make sure it was still in place. When she didn't make a sound he was reassured. Had she punctured a lung, it could have meant death. Mr. Platt scooped Esme into his arms and took her off to their carriage, calling for the help to ready the horses.

If it had been a normal day, Mr. Platt would have ridden off himself to fetch the local doctor. As it was, their family practitioner was away on holiday. This meant he and poor Esme had to make the long journey into Columbus and trust that the doctor at the local hospital would be good enough.

It was just before 10:00pm when they pulled up to the hospital. The pain was piercing and constant, but Esme found she could keep going if she just held still and focused her thoughts elsewhere.

"Darling," said Mr. Platt, "I'm going to pop inside and find the doctor. I'll hurry back."

Esme forced a nod as her father descended from the carriage. When he disappeared from sight she breathed a sigh of relief. On the ride down he had been over attentive. In silence she had only her thoughts, free from the worries of others.

Esme thought about her best friend Margaret, whom she was supposed to be having lunch with tomorrow and who would be shocked to find out what had happened. Margaret was much more proper than Esme and would never have climbed a tree in the first place, let alone fall out of one. Maybe that was why Margaret had a boyfriend and Esme didn't. Esme was quietly jealous, though incredibly happy for Margaret, who had recently started dating Tom. Tom was the star of the baseball team and the most handsome boy at the local high school. He was also kind and very funny, and Esme was glad to have gotten to know him better in recent months. Yet while Esme enjoyed spending time with Margaret and Tom, it always left her feeling empty.

"Over here, Dr. Cullen—she's in the carriage."

Esme glanced up at the door just as her father reappeared. His expression was torn, and Esme imagined he was trying to be strong for her while also being worried sick.

A moment later another man eased around the carriage door and Esme felt her body blink. He was stunning: the most beautiful creature she had ever seen. Could this really be a doctor? Her heart had trouble beating in his presence and with a quiet smile he seemed to acknowledge its struggle. Slowly, he climbed in to kneel beside her on the floor. Her eyes followed his every movement until he came to rest at her side.

"Esme," he smiled at her, "I'm Dr. Cullen."

She never thought someone so beautiful would have such kind eyes. Esme told herself that he must be an angel.

"Let have a look at your leg, shall we?"

She nodded. Slowly, Dr. Cullen pulled her skirt up and over her knee. Her legs stretched out in their white stockings were thin and well shaped, thanks to her love of the outdoors and exercising—tree climbing in particular.

"The left one?" Dr. Cullen looked up at her with that kind smile.

"Yes," she whispered.

His hands found her foot and slowly skated up her leg, probing for signs of discomfort or breakage. Esme was shocked by the coldness of his fingers which chilled her through her stocking. Yet, something about his touch was electrifying and calmed her being. His fingers were so gentle and elegant as they did their work. It was like watching an expert piano player find his notes on a keyboard.

Dr. Cullen suddenly glanced up at Esme and held her gaze for moment, then returned to his work with a small laugh. She felt her cheeks burn bright red—had she mumbled something out loud? She had been so caught up in her thoughts that she wasn't paying attention to her actions. Maybe she was just acting ridiculous, wonderstruck by this strange man.

"Alright," he said after another beat, "this is going to hurt. I apologize in advance."

He palmed the bottom of her small foot, cupping it in his hand and slowly pushing backwards towards her shin. Esme let out a whimper of pain.

"Ow," she felt tears prick the backs of her eyes.

"Can you show me where it hurts?"

Esme leaned forward and touched the spot just above her ankle. As she was leaning forward, she suddenly became hyperaware of how close his face was to hers. She felt his breath tickle her cheek and her eyelids drooped in response. He also smelled divine, and when he placed a hand on her back and gently asked her if she wanted to recline, Esme nearly found herself leaning into him.

"Esme," the way he said her name chilled and soothed her like the feeling of cold silk on her bare skin, "are you feeling okay?"

His voice smiled and snapped her out of whatever trance she had been in.

"Yes—yes, I'm well," she stammered and felt her cheeks turn bright red again. She quickly leaned back, embarrassed and wanting to be as far from the doctor's face as possible. But in her haste she smacked her head on the other side of the carriage, causing the whole coach to shudder. She wanted to die right there, mortified by her awkwardness. But Dr. Cullen's laughed and moved to catch her head, once again bringing his face close to hers.

"My dear, please be careful," he whispered, gazing into her eyes. Then he spoke more loudly for her father to hear outside, "we don't want you hurting yourself further."

"We sure don't!" her father chuckled.

"In fact, let's get you into the hospital—I fear there's no easy way to do this without causing you pain, so if you want to wrap your arms around my neck I can carry you in."

How could she resist? As if in a trance her hands moved to lock around his neck. She felt how cold he was under her warmth; it was almost inhuman. Quickly, but with great care, he slid an arm under her legs and behind her back.

"Ready?"

"Mhmm," she couldn't look at him because she knew if she did she would enjoy this trip too much.

And then she was in his arms and it seemed like carrying her took him no effort. He stepped down from the carriage, and spoke briefly with her father.

"She will have to stay here for a few days. We'll need to bandage her up and let her heal some before she can go home."

"Yes, Sir—but she will be okay?"

"She will get through this."

But Esme wasn't sure she would, the way her face felt against his cool and muscular chest; his strong arms cradling her. That delicious smell—she couldn't place it, but oh it was glorious. He was glorious, and in his arms Esme felt so safe. She felt at peace, like the whole world was spinning by but the two of them were frozen.

"What are you thinking about?" his voice startled her, and she glanced around to see that they were entering the hospital and her father had already climbed back in the carriage to return home. In 1911, it was not customary for parents to stay at the hospital with their children.

"Oh," she blushed. He was smiling down at her and his eyes looked as if they were laughing. _He knows_, she thought, _He knows exactly what I was thinking!_

"Well," she stammered. It was incredibly hard to put together thoughts—let alone make up a story—while in his presence, "I was just thinking that you're a very good doctor."

He laughed—his laugh was so smooth and warm.

"I've hardly taken care of you!"

"Yes, well you haven't hurt me."

He face suddenly grew serious.

"No."

"And I'm sorry you're stuck carrying me—I'm pretty heavy I'm sure and—"

"You're not heavy at all and it's my pleasure."

He smiled, flashing his teeth and Esme was stunned by how white and perfect they were. _Come on, Esme, get a grip_!

"So how long have you been a doctor?"

"A while," he smiled.

He bumped open a door to a dark room, and carried her over to an empty bed.

"How long is awhile? You look quite young, really."

Gently he laid her down, bracing her head as he set it on the pillow. He leaned over her, his face close to hers and as she looked up at him she noticed his eyes—they were a beautiful honey color. She had never seen eyes like that before.

He kept his hand under her head for longer than necessary, his face inches from hers. All words escaped her and she stared helplessly up at him. He gazed down at her with an unreadable expression, and she noticed he was taking deep breaths. _Kiss me_, the works popped into her head as easily as if she had read them from a page of a book. She closed her eyes to fight the emotions that were rising within her. She wanted to feel his cool, perfect lips on hers. She wanted to feel his strength; to feel the weight of his body on hers.

When she opened her eyes again a moment later, his face was impossibly close to hers, but his eyes were looking down, towards her throat. His lips were slightly parted and she noticed hers were the same way.

"Dr. Cullen," his name escaped her lips in a whisper, and in a flash he looked up at her and removed his hands, standing up straight.

"I'm sorry," he said in a formal tone, "I fear I've been at the hospital too long and exhaustion is winning out. I'll get the nurse to help you change and then be back to bandage your leg."

Without another look, he left the room, flipping on the light switch as he went. With the light came a coldness in Esme's stomach. What had she thought? That the most handsome man she had ever met, a doctor no less, would be interested in her? This was the danger of daydreams: that one would confuse them with reality. Suddenly Esme felt like crying, and smacked her hands down on either side of her body. _Get a grip_, she told herself.


	2. Chapter 2

**Just wanted to say a quick thanks to ****lstvry****, Liv, ****VampirateCarrie****, Jus****t4Me**** & ****marmiexx**** for their sweet reviews **

A short while later a nurse arrived and helped change Esme's clothes. Esme was shocked by how much pain the nurse's movements caused her; even when Dr. Cullen had carried her inside from the carriage it hadn't hurt so much.

"I'm sorry dear," said the nurse when she had finished, "I'll go find Dr. Cullen and perhaps he'll bring you some pain medicine when he comes to bandage you up."

When Dr. Cullen returned a few minutes later he seemed to have overcome his bout of exhaustion and was all business.

"I fear this will hurt, but once we brace your leg hopefully everything will heal smoothly." With nothing more to say and quietly he began his work. But Esme's brain was swimming with questions. She wanted to talk; she wanted him to look at her the way he had not twenty minutes earlier. But what could she ask? Every thought that came to her mind seemed so trivial. There was nothing remarkable to ask; nothing she could say that would draw him in. He was extraordinary and she was just another patient. Flirting would do her no good—it was obvious that his good looks attracted the eyes of many women much more beautiful than she. But she couldn't sit there silently. She had to try or she would hate herself forever for not doing anything.

"How long have you been working at this hospital?" Dr. Cullen glanced up at her and she noticed that his expression was hesitant, as if he was considering the implication of more than just the words he chose to answer with.

"Eleven years," he focused on the bandage he was weaving around her leg. She was surprised at how painless it was—he was jostling her much more than the nurse had, yet it hardly felt like anything.

"Oh—you don't look that old."

He grinned, "No?"

"No."

"How old do you think I look?"

"Oh, um," Esme blushed, remembering the countless times her mother had told her never to discuss a person's age because it was rude, "Well I don't know…"

"I want to hear what you think," he had a large, beautiful smile on his face and he looked up and held her gaze, "You don't have to be embarrassed. I'm just curious."

"Well, I would guess 26 or 27, but you must be older if you have been working here for so long."

He looked down at his work again, still smiling.

"How old are you, then?" Esme waited for a moment but he said nothing, "You're not going to tell me, are you?"

"No," his eyes flicked up to meet hers.

"Why not?"

"Because this way is more fun—I have to keep you intrigued somehow."

Esme laughed. _Even if you told me you would still have all my attention_, she wanted to say.

"Why do you laugh?"

"Just annoyed I won't get an answer," Esme shrugged, "I'm too curious for my own good."

"Well I don't want to frustrate you more—you're in a very delicate condition right now."

He was teasing her. She smiled and rolled her eyes.

"Fine, I don't really care," she lied.

"I'm 246 years old."

Esme looked at Dr. Cullen waiting for him to laugh or wink, but he simply stared back at her.

"Is that some sort of riddle or something? You know, remove the last 6 on the number and you're actually 24?"

Dr. Cullen shrugged, the corners of his mouth turning up.

"Fine, I'll let it go." For some reason, it suddenly didn't matter what age he was.

A minute later she was bandaged up and Dr. Cullen was packing up his supplies.

"Are you almost done with your shift?" she asked.

"Yes."

"You seem to work really long hours—I bet your family doesn't like that very much," Esme glanced over to the window. The question was a shameless test. Even if she couldn't have him, she had to know if he belonged to someone else.

Dr. Cullen looked at her for a long moment and it dawned on her that he knew what she was doing. Esme suddenly felt ashamed for being so bold, and glanced down at her hands while her cheeks lit up with red blush. How many girls—women even—had tested him in this way? He probably hated it. Just because he was gorgeous; just because he had the power to save lives, woman crumbled at his feet. No one—including her—knew him any better. It was the surface level things that had prompted her to ask. Acting shallow was never going to attract his attention for long.

"I don't have a family," he finally said. Esme was surprised by how gentle his voice was, but she couldn't look up. She was too embarrassed and worried about what his face would tell her. Even though she could feel his eyes burning into the top of her head, Esme fixed her gaze on a wrinkle in the bed sheet.

"Its better this way," he continued, but she wasn't exactly sure what he was referring to. Just at that moment a nurse hurried into the room and begged Dr. Cullen to come away quick—a patient had gone into shock.

Esme didn't even look up as she heard him leave the room.

It must have been 3am by the time Esme was able to fall asleep. There were so many noises in the hospital; so many people crying out for help. So many nurses and doctors bustling about. But once she was asleep she slept until mid-morning.

When she woke up, the sun was streaming in through the windows and she immediately felt a pang of sadness for not being able to run into its warm rays. She was already ready to climb a tree again.

At around 10am a nurse scurried in, followed by a different doctor.

"Where's Dr. Cullen?" Esme blurted out before she could stop herself.

"Out," the Doctor looked tired and she realized that all his female patients were probably asking the same question that morning.

The doctor went about his business, poking and prodding and scribbling things down on his notepad. Unlike Dr. Cullen, this doctor's touch caused her immense pain. But soon enough he was gone and Esme's day grew boring. The window in her room looked out at the front of the building, so as she lay bored in bed she watched the people come and go and the sun climb slowly across the sky.

At around 1:00pm, clouds began to roll in and the sun became hidden. No more than 20 minutes later a beautiful car rolled in to the parking lot. Esme recognized it from a picture Margaret's boyfriend Tom had shown them the week before. It was a 1911 Rambler 65, Tom's dream car. Esme felt her breath catch when who should step out of it was none other than Dr. Cullen.

She laughed out loud, _Of course. _It seemed to only make sense that Dr. Cullen would not only be gorgeous but also have a fancy car. She watched him enter the building then pass by her door. He didn't stop or say hello.

A short while later, the same doctor from that morning returned to check on her. Esme felt her heart drop in disappointment—perhaps she was no longer under Dr. Cullen's care. This doctor began poking and prodding once again, and when he got to the spot just above her ankle, she couldn't help it—Esme let out a small shriek of pain. It was more of a whimper, really, but the doctor looked up and frowned at her as if to say_ "control yourself."_

But he kept doing what he was doing and it hurt so badly that Esme began to wonder if he were re-breaking her leg. She closed her eyes and bit down on her index finger to keep from crying, as she would have done with a pencil if one had been lying around. Biting down on something seemed to help lessen the pain. _Deep breaths_, she told herself.

"Dr. Roberts, do you mind if I take a look—I'm curious to see how she's coming along."

"Oh, hello there Dr. Cullen."

Esme's eyes fluttered open and found him in a second. Beautiful Dr. Cullen was standing there, a frustrated look on his face. Dr. Roberts was still at work on her leg, but somehow the new doctor's presence eased her pain.

Esme couldn't look away, though she knew it was rude to stare. Dr. Cullen looked exceptionally fresh today, and she wanted to drink in every inch of him: from his blond hair, perfectly combed back, to his blue eyes and pale flawless skin. The suit he wore was well tailored and showed off his muscular body. He was intently watching whatever the other doctor was doing to her leg.

"I am just about done—," Dr. Roberts suddenly twisted or pulled, forcing another whimper out of Esme.

In a flash, Dr. Cullen had crouched to the level of Dr. Roberts. Esme watched at he made eye contact, staring the other doctor down in a frightening way.

"I'll take it from here," he said. Dr. Roberts nodded and stood without any hesitation, almost as if he were in a trance. A moment later Dr. Roberts was gone, and Esme and Carlisle were alone in the room.

**I would love to hear your thoughts and comments…please leave a review! Thanks **


	3. Chapter 3

**Disclaimer: Twilight is not mine!**

**Hello! Thank you all for the lovely reviews! Here's a new chapter (sorry it's taken so long to post)—this one we get to see inside of Carlisle's head. I would also like to point out that I have tweaked something from the "official Twilight history": Carlisle has already turned Edward into a vampire (sorry to go out of order—I was just having too much fun with one scene in this chapter). I hope you enjoy-**** Please R&R **

Dr. Cullen quickly examined Esme's leg. _That damn doctor_, he thought, _not being gentle, as usual. Poor girl—she's in enough pain as it is… _

And for some reason, he seemed to care more than was necessary. It was rare for Dr. Carlisle Cullen to be taken by a patient. It had only happened once before in his nearly 300 years. That time the woman had been married and clearly in love with her partner so there was nothing he could have done but savor the moments he spent in her company. This time, it was with this child—_Esme_. It was her sent that first caught his attention. Carlisle hadn't ever smelt anything like her. She was a whiff of heaven, and he had almost lost control when he had carried her in from the carriage the night before. Standing there, looking down at her, he could see her artery pulsing in her neck. He wanted to give in right there, to sink his cold teeth into her warmth. To taste her. To feel her loveliness spread throughout his body and encompass his dead heart.

But he had refrained. Of course she had noticed, but she believed the lie he fed her about being overworked and exhausted. When he left the room and his brain cleared, Carlisle realized he had a problem. He needed to consciously control himself around her, something he hadn't had to worry about in at least 200 years. So he tried to be formal and down to business the next time he saw her.

But Esme wouldn't let him.

Here is why she was different from other girls—other women even. First, while Carlisle knew she was attracted to him—all women were because he was a perfect predator—she fought to hold back that attraction. It wasn't in an arrogant, teasing way either. Rather, she seemed to be struggling with it, turning it over in her head and going back and forth about something. This element was not so much attractive to me as it was intriguing. Second, and perhaps most important was her capacity to love. Carlisle had made love a study of his during his 266 years of existence, and he liked to think that he knew more about it than most. It was his ability to stand on the sideline and observe that helped him to sense this character trait in a person. He had watched the interactions of countless patients, countless families, countless lovers; by now he only needed to observe a person for five minutes and he could tell how genuine and selfless their love was. Esme had a warmth unparallel to anyone he had met before. She was beautiful, inside and out. A precious gift to this evil world and as much as he wanted her he knew she could never belong to him.

"How are you feeling today?" Carlisle murmured.

"Better—now that you're here," Carlisle looked up and noticed her cheeks were bright red, "I mean, Dr. Roberts always seems to hurt me. You don't."

Carlisle smiled and finished what he was working on.

"Well I'm glad I can be of help. Did you sleep well last night?"

"Yes—fine, thank you. When did you finally leave the hospital?"

"Not until 2am."

"That's so late—what time had you started your shift?"

"8pm."

"Yesterday?"

"No, the day before."

She made him smile with the shocked, innocent look on her face. He had the urge to cup her cheeks in his hands and smile into those eyes of hers. He wanted to befriend her. He wanted to know things about her, to be able to ask her any question he wanted. He wanted to take her out to dinner, to see what food she liked best; what music and books she liked. Carlisle wanted to know for sure that she would be in his half-life for some time, and that he would be able to get to know her well.

But he couldn't. He could only help her here and now. Then she would go off into the world and he would likely never see her again. And it was probably for the best. He was getting too attached.

"You must not need much sleep," Esme said.

"No," he laughed, tightening her bandage and patting her leg before he stood up, "I think you'll be out of here tomorrow."

Her eyes grew large.

"What's wrong?" he already knew the answer.

"Oh, well—I don't. I um—"

"Esme," her name came out an octave lower. Carlisle went to her bed and sat down beside her, "I would think you'd be happy to leave this place—this place isn't for you. It's for the very sick and the very old. And you have such a full life ahead of you."

He paused to smile at her as she looked down to study her hands.

"Esme," he said again, touching the warm skin of her arm, "You have a bright future, so take care of yourself. I have a feeling this life has a lot to offer you."

He suddenly wished more than anything that he could be the one to give her a full life. If only he were human…_then you would be dead by now and not even have had the chance to meet her._

"Dr. Cullen, I need to ask you something," she spoke barely above a whisper.

"Hmm?" he continued to study her features.

"Why aren't you married? Why don't you have a family?"

Her question took him by surprise, but he was equally surprised by how warm it made him feel inside.

"Would you believe me if I told you I hadn't found the right girl?" Carlisle smiled.

"I'm not sure…"

"Well it's the truth. And I lied before when I said I didn't have a family—I have a brother named Edward who lives here in town."

"Edward?" a light bulb popped in Esme, "Edward Cullen! He's your brother—of course, it makes so much sense!"

"You know Edward?" Dr. Cullen brow furrowed—Edward hadn't mentioned knowing Esme.

"Well no, not really," Esme blushed, "Well sort of—he goes to school with my best friend Margaret, so I have heard about him."

"Ah," Dr. Cullen raised an eyebrow, "And what have you heard about him that makes it make sense that he's my brother?"

"Oh, well—" Esme bumbled her words because really the only thing she had heard about Edward was how handsome he was. Margaret hadn't even said he was nice—apparently, he was actually quite cold to her and her classmates, "She just said some things about him, you know."

Dr. Cullen had a small smile on his face but didn't say anything, waiting for Esme to continue.

"Fine," Esme sighed, "She said he was incredibly handsome."

The corners of Dr. Cullen's mouth turned up more.

"Do you find me attractive, Esme?"

"Uhhhh, well, that's a good question, really…I—"

"You don't have to answer that," he laughed and stood up to leave, "I was just teasing you."

"Oh, right," Esme felt as if her body was on fire.

"I need to go see my other patients, but I'll stop back in later today."

Dr. Cullen only stopped back in to say goodnight before left work for the day. Esme looked stunning as usual, and he found himself smiling about how this young girl had gotten under his skin.

The next morning it was time for Esme to be discharged. But Carlisle couldn't let her go that easily. He had decided to drive her home, but only on the condition that she agreed to it. "Morning," she smiled when he stepped into her room.

"Good morning," he had her chart in his hand and was reviewing it for any last minute changes, "Esme, it looks like you get to go home today."

Esme's heart plummeted into her stomach.

"Oh," she replied.

"You don't seem happy," he laughed.

"Oh, no—it will be lovely to see my family."

Dr. Cullen raised an eyebrow and Esme shrugged.

"Well I was wondering," he began, "and you have every right to say no to this, but I was wondering if you would mind if I drove you home today? I think the car will be a much smoother ride than the carriage and won't jostle your leg as much."

Esme's face broke into a grin.

"I would like that."

"Good! I'm going to finish my rounds and write up my notes then I'll come find you in a few hours."

Dr. Cullen returned three hours later to help Esme into a wheel chair. He would have preferred to carry her out to his car—to feel her delicious warmth against him—but that would have raised a few eyebrows. He was thankful that he had driven patients home in the past so no one questioned his motives this time.

Esme had never ridden in a car before, so when he lifted her up to the passenger seat she was surprised at how comfortable it was; much nicer than a carriage. Dr. Cullen put the wheel chair in the back before moving to the driver's seat. Esme was barred from walking for a few more weeks so the chair was coming home with her.

Sitting next to her in the cab of the car, Carlisle had to take a moment to compose himself. Her sweet sent was almost too much for him, even with his years of practice. Something about this beautiful woman, the essence of who she was, captivated him. He looked over at her, studying the delicate curve of her nose, those beautiful blushed lips and gentile eyes. Her warmth came from more than just her blood and he wished he could keep a piece of her with him. Especially after the inevitable happened. Carlisle knew this would be the last time he saw Esme. Unbeknown to her, he was planning a move to Chicago and would be leaving in a few days.

They needed him there, in a large city where there were more sick people. While he enjoyed working on the outskirts it did get boring after awhile. Plus, there was the simple fact that he couldn't stay in a place for more than 10-11 years and he had been in this area for nearly that long. Deep down him also knew that his staying would have no positive outcome for Esme.

"Thank you for driving me home, Dr. Cullen."

"It's my pleasure," he smiled at her.

"I've never been in a car before so this is very exciting!"

Carlisle laughed. He appreciated her unaffected enthusiasm.

"I'm glad you're enjoying it! I personally prefer a car to a carriage."

"Me too—I fear you've ruined me for all future travel," she laughed.

"Oh dear, I'm sorry about that."

"No—this experience is worth it," she smiled, catching his eyes when he glanced over.

"Esme," he sighed after a moment, "I have very much enjoyed having you as a patient, which makes the fact that I'm moving to Chicago in a week a bit disappointing. I won't be around to see how that leg of yours recovers!"

He tried to make a joke at the end, but when he looked back over at her his heart shattered. She looked so sad.

"Oh, you're moving?"

"Yes."

"Why? Why now?"

"Esme," Carlisle reached over and placed his hand on top of hers.

"Well, they will be blessed to have you," she said, voice breaking on 'have'.

"You're too sweet."

"No, I only speak the truth."

They were pulling up to her family's farm now and Esme suddenly felt like she was trapped in an hour glass where Dr. Cullen was the sand and time had almost pulled him away. As the car pulled up Esme's younger brother and sister popped out onto the front porch. They would come greet them when the car stopped, so Esme realized this was her last opportunity to act, to say _something_. But she could think of nothing elaborate, nothing earth shattering came to lips. _Don't leave me_ was all she could think. But when she finally spoke the words that came out of her mouth surprised her.

"I think you're wonderful," she murmured. Carlisle looked over at her but this time held her gaze. He held her gaze as he bought the car to a stop. Held her gaze as he turned off the engine. It was as if in that moment, the only thing that existed where each other's eyes.

"It's Esme! Look it's Esme!" the shrieks of the younger children broke the trance, "Mama, Papa come look!"

Carlisle clasped his hands in his lap.

"Esme," he began, "You're so young. You have such a life ahead of you."

_ And I want to spend it with you_, she felt tears burning the backs of her eyes.

"You need time, Esme. To grow and to learn. You need to figure out what you want from life; what you need to become a whole person."

"But I know," Esme fought to keep her voice even, "I want to be a teacher. I want to marry for love and have a family of my own. I want to leave this place and go somewhere more exciting—where things happen. Where the world is taking place."

"The world _is_ taking place here."

"No, it's not! Nothing happens here—I want to move to a city, where decisions are made and people do real good with their lives."

Carlisle looked over at Esme, her speech confirming what he suspected. She still had a lot to learn and any decision she made now would be ill-informed. He needed to let her go.

"Esme, I need you to do something for me."

She frowned but didn't say anything. Her parents had emerged on the front step and were heading for the car.

"Please give yourself a chance at life. Even when times are bad _you_ have so much to hope for; to keep moving towards."

"You say this like you don't," she laughed bitterly.

"I don't," his voice was suddenly hard and cold, shocking her and starting her to look up at him. In that moment she understood what she could not possible understand. She was suddenly afraid of him and Carlisle watched as her eyes grew wider. He hated to see her like this, but he knew it was for the best. Then Esme's mother knocked on the window and her father opened the passenger side door. Everything between them was over, at least for now…


	4. Chapter 4

**Disclaimer: Do not own Twilight!**

**Thanks again for the lovely reviews I'm trying to pound out the rest of this story asap! I'm not super fond of this chapter, but it is necessary to take the plot where I want it to go…ah well! I hope you enjoy and I swear the next chapter will be better! Happy weekend to all!**

**As always, please R/R **

1921 ( Please note the time change! We have fast-forward quite a few years)

Esme shot up in bed, drenched in cold sweat. After a few deep breaths she was able to calm herself.

"It was only a nightmare."

Esme suffered from frequent nightmares and their regularity and intensity had only increased since she learned that her husband Charles was returning home from war. Given that he would be arriving home early the next morning, she was hardly surprised that this dream was the worst yet. It had been one of her reoccurring dreams: a vampire was chasing her through a dark forest, and as fast as she ran he was always faster. Sometimes he would appear ahead of her and she would have to change directions—it was as if the creature enjoyed teasing her, terrifying her. Most nights the dream consisted of just the chase. But tonight at the very end of the dream he finally caught her. She felt his steely arms close around her, so vividly, crushing the breath from her lungs. He was so strong that she couldn't move, paralyzed in his grasp. His cold breath tickled her neck as he murmured into her ear, "You're finally mine."

That's when she had woken up. It was 5:00am and she knew she wouldn't be able to fall back asleep. Esme pulled herself out of bed, wrapped herself snuggly in her robe and headed to the kitchen to make a pot of tea. She was determined to enjoy her last hours of freedom before Charles returned.

It had been an amazing two years without him. Esme had secretly been teaching a 5th grade class in a nearby town. Before he had left for war, Charles had refused to let work and she had grown depressed at home where she had spent her days in solitude. In fact, she had spent most of her time alone, unless you counted Charles's company. He didn't like her to have friends, claiming that any time with them was time away from him. Who would be home to feed him after a long day at work? Who would be home to keep him company?

Those sentiments only went one way, however. Charles loved going out with his friends on the weekend. Those were the worst times for Esme. He would always come home drunk and often beat her for not being "the perfect wife." So she would try harder and harder to please him, but it began to seem like the harder she tried the more he resented her. The harsher the lashings were.

Esme had managed to maintain one friendship with a woman named Sarah. Sarah was a lovely, kind yet strong-headed woman who openly did not like Charles. "Esme," Sarah had once said, "I have to tell you what I think because I care about you. Charles is an asshole. If I were you I'd leave him. I promise not to bring it up again and I won't pressure you to do anything—I've said my piece. But if you ever need anything, especially with regards to him, you know you can always come to me."

When he had gone to war, Esme slowly began to realize that the way Charles was and the way he felt about her were not her fault. Without him at home, Esme began to make friends; she began to grow into a whole person. She had taken the job as a teacher—her life-long dream—and filled her days with meaningful work. Her weekends were spent lesson planning and meeting friends for tea or lunch or book group.

She had also been saving money for those two years. Charles had sent her a monthly stipend—barely enough to live off—but enough for food and to pay the bills.

The day he returned was a cool February morning, and Esme forced a smile and a hug when Charles stepped through the front door.

"My Esme," he smiled and kissed her on the lips, "I have missed you, my love. It's such a relief to return home to you."

She was surprised by how excited he was to see her. The day passed and he was incredibly kind; he even presented her with a gift of French perfume that he had picked up for her on his way home from Europe. A seed of hope was planted in Esme's heart that day: _Maybe war has changed him; maybe the presence of violence towards him and the lack of love have had an impact; maybe those situations have reformed him._

For three long and glorious months Esme began to believe Charles had grown into the perfect husband. He was so excited to hear of her new friends and he encouraged her to continue to see them. Esme never told him about the teaching, however. A voice inside of her—perhaps the piece of her that still didn't trust him—told her not to; told her that the money she had earned and secretly saved needed to be kept a secret.

Three months after Charles had arrived home, Esme woke up one morning horribly sick to her stomach. _Food poisoning_, she told herself. But after this strange morning sickness persisted for a whole week Charles took her to the doctor.

"You're pregnant," the doctor said, and Esme experienced a new happiness, stronger and unlike anything she had ever felt before.

That was the moment things started to go downhill. Esme wasn't sure why but it seemed that Charles was unhappy with her pregnancy. Almost as if he didn't want an addition to the family. And so, as he had done so many times in the past, Charles went out with his friends on Friday night. Esme stayed home trying to fight off the sick worry that was building up from her gut to her stomach. _Have faith_, she told herself, _he is different._ But when he returned home the hallow glaze in his eyes told her that he had regressed in to the monster he once was.

He had only been able to grab her arm and smack her face. By some miracle Esme had escaped his iron grip and ran into the darkness outside. Had she have stayed, Esme was certain Charles would have punched the life out of her womb. He didn't give up easily, however. Esme sprinted into the forest near their house with Charles close on her heals. As she dodged through the trees she suddenly felt as if her nightmare had come true. She grew terrified, but she heard a voice inside her—a voice not her own—encourage her to keep going. _Esme_, it said_, give yourself a chance at life. You have so much to hope for—so much love in your future. Keep going, keep running. _And so she ran, ran as if her life depended on it.

After awhile, when Esme grew tired she decided to take refuge behind a large tree. She crouched there—waiting—all senses alert, but she heard nothing more than an owl in the distance. All was silent. She rested in that spot for some time, her breath slowing and pulse calming. Awhile later she heard Charles' voice far off in the distance, hollering her name. Esme was relieved and surprised by how very far away he sounded—it was safe to look for better shelter. Slowly Esme stood, wondering where she could possibly go at this hour.

Sarah. It was the most obvious answer—Sarah was the only one who knew about her past with Charles. She was the only one Esme wouldn't have to explain things to. Quietly she made her way through the woods, thankful she knew her way around well. When Charles was away she had gone on hikes all the time. She loved the outdoors; loved how free it made her feel.

It took Esme an hour to walk to Sarah's, but when she arrived Sarah and her husband Andrew were awake and waiting.

"Esme!" her friend rushed forward and threw her arms around her, "Andrew—he was out at Leo's and saw Charles. He said Charlie left angry and hollering about you. I was so worried—I was so worried from your last stories. Are you okay? You're all dirty! What happened? I was going to send Andrew to your house to check on things but didn't know what to do! Oh, Esme!"

Esme felt numb. She wasn't about to cry, she wasn't afraid. She didn't really feel like talking either.

"He hit me," she whispered, "but I ran this time."

"Esme, you will stay here until we can figure something out. You can't go back to him, I won't let you!"

Esme smiled and thanked Sarah.

"I'll have the guest room ready in a moment," Sarah jumped up, "clean sheets and all! You should wash up now—then straight to bed."

"Thank you—I'm just afraid…what if he comes here?"

"Then he'll have to deal with me," Sarah straightened up and made a fierce face.

"I would be scared of you," Esme smiled weakly.

"That's right," Sarah winked, "Now come upstairs. That way if he does come here, he won't see you."

Charles didn't show up that night much to the relief of Sarah, Esme and Andrew. But he did come by the next morning. Esme could hear the conversation from where she sat in the guest room. Andrew answered the door.

"Is she here?" Charles asked, "I've been so worried—Andrew last night was a disaster. I need to apologize, I need to make things right!"

"What do you mean?" said Sarah's voice, "I haven't seen Esme since Wednesday—what happened?"

Sarah sounded genuinely shocked and concerned, which made Esme smile. Charles would never suspect she was hiding upstairs.

"She didn't come here?"

"No," said Andrew's steady voice, "but what happened, Charles? Is Esme missing?"

_This should be good_, Esme smirked to herself, _I wonder how he'll explain this._

"Oh well we got into a silly fight last night—it was stupid, really. I raised my voice and she just left! I assumed she just needed some time to cool down, so I didn't follow her. But I haven't seen her since and I'm worried about her."

"I wish we could help," said Andrew.

"I hope she's okay," Sarah's voice shook, "is there anything we can do to help find her?"

"I have reported her disappearance to the police, so they're keeping an eye out for her. That's probably all you can do too—just let me know if you see her."

"Of course," said Andrew, "Charles, I'm so sorry."

"Me too," he murmured, "Well I'm making the rounds to all her friends' homes so I better be off. Thank you for your help—I'm sorry to drag you into this."

"Don't be—we'll do what we can to help."

Esme heard the door close and breathed a sigh of relived. Sarah's feet pitter-pattered up the stairs and into the guest room.

"That lying bastard!" she shouted, "Esme, what a—"

"Sarah," Andrew stepped into the room behind her, "calm down. Esme is here and she's fine."

"She's not fine, Andrew! Look at her eye!"

A large purple bruise was beginning to form where Charles had smacked her the night before.

"I know Sarah, I meant she got away and it's not going to happen again."

"But he's got the whole town looking for her! The police even—and the chief is a good friend of his! I doubt they'd believe her story or even care to hear it!"

"That's why she's not going to stay here," Andrew turned to Esme, "I'm sorry Esme, but I'm sure you see this is the only way."

Esme nodded.

"I'm going to make a few calls—I have two sisters who might be able help."

"Andrew, I'm sorry—I don't mean to cause trouble," Esme whispered.

"Esme," Andrew smiled, "It's no trouble at all—I'm just happy I can help."

That night after it was dark, Andrew and Sarah snuck Esme into their car. It was decide she would lie down on the floor of the back seat until they were well out of town. That way no one would see her. As they drove away from their small suburb of Cleveland, Esme felt a relief she had never felt before. From where she lay on the floor she could see up to the stars and watched the night sky flicker by between the tree branches. She felt truly free for the first time in her life. She and her baby would have a happy life from here on out. She would get a job teaching with a comfortable salary and support herself and her child.

It was a long drive to Andrew's sisters' house. She lived in Michigan on the coast of Lake Huron. They made it by 1:00am—the plan was for Andrew and Sarah to make the whole trip in one night so no one would know they had left in the first place.

Andrew's sister was incredibly kind and welcoming. She lived alone in a two bedroom apartment, so there was plenty of space for a roommate. Esme couldn't explain how wonderful it felt not having a man in the house—a scar from her time with Charles, she suspected. She would have to work on that, but for now it was a relief.

Millie was Esme's age but unmarried. By some stroke of luck she was also a school teacher, which Esme hoped would help her in finding a job.

She and Sarah said their goodbyes, Sarah promising to visit soon. And then Sarah and Andrew were gone and Esme was alone in her room. She couldn't help it—a combination of exhaustion and relief made her cry herself to sleep.

Months passed and, as Esme had hoped, Millie did help her find a job. She started in September as a substitute. The baby was due in October so it was hard for her to plan a permanent position when she knew she would be out in a month. Esme had enough money saved up that she was living comfortably and able to wait until after Christmas vacation to go back to work.

The baby was born on October 20th. He was the most handsome boy Esme had ever laid eyes on. But the doctors were unable to remove all the fluid from his lungs and within 24 hours he had an infection. It wasn't long before things really went downhill and the poor little boy's finger nails and lips were turning an awful shade of blue. The doctor's told her that he wasn't getting enough oxygen due to the congestion in his lungs. On his fourth day of life his little heart gave up, and Esme held her dead baby boy in her arms.

That was the worst day of Esme's life. She went home that night empty and alone. She stayed in bed for four days, believing her life couldn't get any worse. But she was wrong.

Millie had called Sarah when Esme left for the hospital to give birth, and Sarah had shared the exciting news with a few of her closest friends. Within a few days, thanks to gossip, the entire town knew—including Charles. Through process of elimination, he was able to figure out where Esme was and so he went to the little town in Michigan on the coast of Lake Huron.

On the fifth day after she had returned from the hospital, Esme decided that she needed to get out of the house. She went for a walk in the woods, following the long, winding path that she had enjoyed hiking a few times before. It brought her to the cliff—a high beautiful view of the lake. Esme paused there for a moment, enjoying the view and the feel of the wind blowing gently against her. She closed her eyes and took deep breaths, listening to the trees swaying and feeling a sense of unexpected peace. The birds were twittering and the small waves washing up on the rocks below. It was as if her body had disbursed into a million tiny particles and she had become another piece of the beautiful scene.

That was when someone's approaching footsteps pulled her out of the trance.

"Hello, Esme."

Her body froze at the recognition of the voice. Her stomach felt like it had collapsed on itself. Surely her life was already bad enough; bad enough that it couldn't be made worse by _him_ finding her. But as she turned, Esme was horrified to find Charles standing not five feet behind her.

"How did you find me?" she whispered.

"I heard you had my baby—at least I assume it was mine, unless you've become a little whore."

Esme chose not to say anything—she wouldn't give him the satisfaction of knowing either way. Charles snorted.

"Ah well, it doesn't matter anymore—I hear it's dead so you've been punished accordingly. How sad you must be—sad enough to come up here and commit suicide, I imagine."

Esme felt a sick chill trickle down her spine.

"I'm not here to commit suicide."

"Mmm. Well that's a shame—I thought I would be making things easier for you." Charles took a step forward.

"Easier for me?" Esme wanted to take a step backwards but she had nowhere to go.

"Esme you have been an unfaithful wife—in many countries the punishment for that is rightfully death."

"I have been a better wife to you than most women could have possibly been. I tried so hard to please you."

"Yes, but you never tried quite hard enough," he sneered.

"You're an evil man," she murmured as he took another large step towards her.

"Esme, really I'm helping you out here. Suicide would send you straight to the fiery pits of hell. You have no reason to want to live anymore. Your child is dead and your husband no longer wants you." He took another step, bringing himself almost flesh up against her body.

"I have every reason to keep living," she bit back.

"Well _I_ don't think so," his face contorted into an evil, wide-eyed frown. A second later he stuck out his arm, shoving Esme backwards over the cliff…

_It was the fall that had scared her the most; the seconds suspended by nothing but air. It was the unknown she couldn't handle; the feeling of the freefall. Seeing the jagged rocks below growing larger and closer each millisecond. The horrible wind screeching in her ears. But she knew when the fall was over that would be all, and she could cope with that._


	5. Chapter 5

**Disclaimer: Don't own Twilight.**

**So a note on the last chapter—I was trying to keep this as close to SM's official history as possible, tho I have deviated twice so far (double fail). I know Esme is supposed to attempt suicide, but I thought about it for a while and I just wasn't convinced that she would do that—I couldn't make it fit her character (at least the way I'm writing her character). I am also a firm believer that there are things authors don't know about their characters—once they make the page, characters become their own people. So maybe SM missed what **_**really**_** happened to Esme: an attempted murder made to look like a suicide ;) Take it as you will…either way, it's a new (hopefully exciting) twist!**

**Ok—now that that's out of the way, here's some more Dr. Cullen for ya! And as always, thank you for the lovely reviews. You are all too sweet 3**

It was the end of Dr. Cullen's shift but he had gotten word that the medics were bringing in a suicide. Because he was considered to be the best doctor in town, he was asked to stay and see if he could help the poor woman.

When the ambulance pulled up, he climbed in the back and instantly recognized her smell. But when he looked at the body he could hardly believe it was the girl he remembered. _Esme_, he thought, _what have you done to yourself?_

"She jumped of the cliff, Doc," said one of the medics, "I think all we need from you is to pronounce. I didn't feel a heart beat when we arrived at the scene and that was a good while ago."

Carlisle barely heard the words of the medic and didn't understand their meaning. He was overwhelmed by a numbness bristling from the core of his person. He took Esme's bloody hand in his. _Oh my dear_.

And that's when he felt it—the faintest pulse. It was no wonder the medics had missed it. He could only sense it because he was a vampire; a homing device for such things. He had already made his decision and moved quickly.

"Take her to the morgue," he commanded. The medics look frightened by his sudden determination and quickly unloaded Esme from the back.

"Oh, and 6:52pm," Dr. Cullen checked his watch. The medics hurried off and he paused to give them a chance to put her away.

"What are you doing?" he asked himself. "Are you really going to turn her?"

Yes. Yes had always been the answer. He turned made his way to the morgue, praying that she was able to hold on to life just a little bit longer.

By the time he arrived the medics were gone. The room was cold and stale but at least empty of life. There would not be a witness. Except for Esme of course—he could hear her heart beating a soothing rhythm. He walked to her side and stood over her body.

"Esme," he whispered, "I haven't forgotten you these 10 years."

She lay motionless and for a flash he wondered if she would remember him when she came around. But Carlisle didn't let that worry sit with him for long.

"I'm going to do what I should have done then. I promise to take care of you through this, but it will be painful and I'm so sorry for that."

Carlisle cupped her cheek in his hand—it was beautifully warm_._ He let the feeling linger in his palm, savoring this precious last moment with human Esme.

"Darling, are you ready?"

Again she showed no sign of awareness. She would not put up a fight. Slowly he leaned over her, taking in her sent. He needed to prepare himself for this—it would be infinitely harder to stop himself with Esme than it had been with Edward. It suddenly felt that all his years of restraint had been leading up to this moment. _Remember yourself, Carlisle. If you drink all her blood, you won't get to keep her. Having her for the years to come will be much more enjoyable than a few seconds of lust._

Carlisle placed his lips on the soft skin of her neck and drew in a deep breath. The smell was more glorious than anything, but in that instance a very human self-control took hold and he knew he could do it.

"Esme, I'll see you soon," he whispered into her ear.

He bit into the soft flesh of her neck, her carotid artery bursting blood into his mouth. He heard her inhale a sharp breath but she was too weak to do anything else. But _ahh_ she had the most luxurious taste—so intoxicating. _This is Esme_. Carlisle placed a hand on the opposite side of her head, gently stroking her cheek. _She must be in pain_, he thought. Her warmth coursed through him, relaxing his muscles and clouding his brain.

After 30 seconds he withdrew, panting and trying to compose himself. She wasn't squirming in pain but that was due to her poor human condition. But, just to be sure the venom was working—and just to taste her one last time—Carlisle indulged in her for few more seconds. He then carefully picked up her limp form and quickly left the hospital, running through the woods to his home. No one saw them leave.

Consciousness returned to Esme like waking up from a nap when you hadn't known you were sleeping. Her body felt like it weighed one million pounds. She inhaled sharply and looked around before sitting up. Everything was so clear—it was as if a veil had been lift from in front of her face and she could finally see the world as it was. She was in a beautiful room—a library with cherry paneled walls. She had never seen this room before. A rustle from behind her caused her to sit up—much faster than she thought possible—and turn towards the noise. She was suddenly unable to breathe. There by the window, lounging against the wall in all his glory, stood Dr. Cullen.

"Esme," he smiled.

Esme closed her eyes, rubbing them and patting her cheeks. When she looked again he was still there.

"How are you feeling," he began to cross the room to her side.

Esme couldn't find words to describe her feelings. When he finally reached her side, Dr. Cullen picked up her hand to hold between his. Another moment passed before she could speak.

"I-I don't understand," she stammered. Whether it was the disorientation of waking up from a forgotten sleep in a strange place, or simply the shock of seeing Dr. Cullen,seeing _him_ again, Esme was unable to control her emotions and burst into tears.

"Dear," he whispered, stepping even closer and placing a hand on her cheek to wipe away the stains, "Shhhhhh. I can explain everything. I know you must be confused and that you must wonder where I came from."

"You vanished 10 years ago. I was never going to see you again—I've accepted that."

"I know—I know that's what was supposed to happen."

His words surprised her. She glanced up, searching his face for their meaning.

"What do you last remember, Esme?"

She closed her eyes and grew more disconcerted when her mind stayed blank; she didn't remember anything. Esme strained for her thoughts, any thought, but she could think of nothing beyond the room she was in and the man who stood before her.

"Dr. Cullen—" she began.

"Please, call me Carlisle," he smiled.

"Carlisle," his name rolled off her tongue like a rhyme, "I can't. I can't remember anything."

"Well you remembered who I was when you woke up—that's something. How did you know it was me?"

Esme's mind jumped—she remembered a small dark space. The back of a carriage, it was; her family's old carriage. That's where she first saw him, how could she forget the moment? Her mind skipped to her hospital bed where he hovered above her, to their last goodbye; to meeting Charles shortly thereafter; to marrying Charles to please her family; to Charles' abusive behavior; to his going to war then coming home again; to the baby—and then it all came flooding back and her eyes grew wide and terrified.

"You remember," he murmured.

"Yes—but Carlisle, how am I still alive?"

"Well, that's a story in itself, but I want to hear what happened to you first," he gave her such a deep stare and she found that she had no choice but to continue.

"Where do I begin?" Esme shrugged her shoulders, "I was married to an abusive husband. He went to war and it was during that time that I realized the monster he was—when he returned, he seemed different and I hoped it was true. I became pregnant, he fell back into his old ways, and I ran away and came here—well, I don't know where we are right now, but by here I mean Michigan. I had the baby, who then died four days later."

Esme looked down at her hands. The thought his tiny body; his little finger nails and fragile lips slowly turning blue; the life slowly being suffocated from him…

"I'm sorry, Esme," Carlisle placed a hand on her back and slowly began to rub small circles.

"I was really down after that and stayed home for days. Then one afternoon I decided to go for a walk. To my favorite overlook of Lake Huron and I found peace for a moment…until I turned around and there stood Charles."

Carlisle's body stiffened—this was not the story he had been expecting to hear. It was much worse. Esme sensed his change and looked up, suddenly frightened.

"You're scaring me," she whispered, "you look like you did when you told me goodbye."

"I'm sorry," he looked away shaking his head, "It's just—I thought I knew what happened to you, but I fear I didn't get the right story."

Esme looked away and exhaled.

"What story did you hear?"

"That you attempted suicide by jumping off that cliff."

Esme pursed her lips.

"No. I was in quite a state but I wouldn't have done that."

"So what happened?"

"He shoved me off the cliff."

Carlisle looked at her, not speaking. What could he say to that? What do you tell someone who has been murdered? He wanted to pull her towards him, to wrap her up in his arms. But he realized he had made the biggest mistake of his sorry half-life. He should have never turned her—wherever she was going had better than the life she would now have to live. It would have been one thing to turn her if she had attempted suicide, but this was different.

"I'm so sorry," he murmured.

"I actually feel quite well," she forced a smile, "and no broken bones or bruises…it's a bit of a miracle!"

It seemed absurd to her that this should be the case.

"Actually," she continued, "my throat is the only place I feel any discomfort—it hurts rather bad, like the time I had strap throat as a child."

Carlisle smiled a sad smile.

"Well, I have an explanation for that but perhaps you would like to get cleaned up and properly dressed first?"

Esme looked down at herself and was mortified to see that she was wearing nothing but a hospital gown.

"Yes—but I don't thank I have any clothes here…" it was more of a question than a statement.

"You do—I took the liberty of picking some things out for you," Carlisle walked to a large wardrobe that, while matching the cherry wood of the walls, looked quite out of place in a library, "I hope you'll find everything you need in here."

Esme stared at him in disbelief. She was beyond confused.

"Where am I exactly?" she asked.

"My house," he moved towards the door, "take your time—the bathroom is just out here to the left if you want to wash off. I'll be waiting for you downstairs in the kitchen."

After Carlisle left the room Esme stood and made her way to the wardrobe. Inside was a selection of beautiful, stylish clothes sewn from elegant fabrics which were clearly expensive. It was as if Carlisle had raided the in-style rack at the department store. There were a few beaded flapper dresses, which were fun but not what Esme was in the mood for. She opted for a knee-length black skirt and a fitted white top. Boring but comfortable, and right now she was in the mood for comfort. No high-healed shoes, just flats. She wished there had been slippers.

Esme went to the bathroom to splash water on her face and wrists. But when she looked back at herself in the mirror she grew terrified. The person standing there looked vaguely like her, but clearly was not her. The reflection was of a much more beautiful woman than Esme, with strange crimson eyes. Esme shivered and slowly moved her hands to touch her face. The reflection mirrored her action. Esme reached out to touch the glass—just to make sure it was really there and there wasn't some strange woman playing a trick on her. The glass felt cool and smooth against her fingertips.

"I must be dead," she whispered to herself, "or crazy."

After refreshing in the bathroom, Esme went down stairs. The house was beautiful—the stairway was grand, dark mahogany splitting in two and curving down both walls of the large entry hall.

Her shoes clapped lightly against the floor. She had no idea where the kitchen was, but found it rather quickly after passing through a dinning room and a small reading room.

Carlisle was there waiting for her, frozen like a Grecian god leaning up against the counter with his arms folded. He was staring out the window and didn't seem to notice when she entered the room.

"Hello," Esme whispered, all of a sudden feeling shy and self-conscious.

Carlisle turned and smiled at the sight of her.

"Hello," he crossed the room, reaching her side must faster than she thought humanly possible, "How are you feeling?"

"I'm well, though my throat isn't easing up—it's actually getting worse. Maybe you could take a look at it?"

He smiled that sad smile.

"Lets go sit down in the living room."

"Okay," she followed him, "But this is making me nervous, you know. You're acting funny; things are funny. Should I be nervous?"

"That depends—"

"Well are you going to tell me that I'm about to die? Because as long as it's not that I won't be nervous," she laughed.

"Oh I'm certain you're not about to die."

They were crossing the entranceway to the living room when a handsome young man appeared on the stairs. His pale skin and good looks gave him away as a relative of Carlisle.

"Edward," Carlisle moved towards the stairs, instinctively placing a hand on the small of Esme's back. She drew in a tiny breath of surprise and pleasure, and Edward glanced over at her with a small smile as if he knew what had just happened.

"Edward, let me introduce you to Esme."

"It's a pleasure to meet you," Edward smiled. He took Esme's hand and placed a soft kiss on the back of it.

_What a family_, Esme thought, _Edward is so handsome too—I'm shocked there aren't girls banging down the door of this house!_

Edward smiled again, almost as if hearing her thoughts. Esme knew this was impossible but something about him made her uneasy.

"It's lovely to meet you_._ You both really do look so much alike," smiled Esme.

"You think so?" asked Carlisle, "In what ways?"

"Oh," she bumbled, not wanting to praise their handsome looks and glad when she suddenly caught sight of Edward's eyes, "Your eyes are the same unique color."

"Yes," smiled Carlisle, "Well come, lets not stand here all day." Again he placed a hand on her lower back to guide her into the living room.

"Edward, why don't you join us?"

"Edward," Esme smiled over her shoulder as they walked to the living room, "I believe you knew my friends back in high school—Margaret and Tim? Tim was on the baseball team—"

"Yes, I remember them," said Edward.

"They mentioned you a few times—though it didn't sound you all were that close."

"No, we weren't," he grinned.

The living room was just as beautiful as the rest of the house, with a thick carpet and floor-to-ceiling curtains that framed tall windows overlooking a pond and large yard. A forest traced the property outline in the distance. Esme sank into one of the plush couches in the room and Carlisle sat down beside her.

"This conversation, I imagine, is going to be difficult for you," he began, "so I'm going to tell you the truth and it may take a little while for you to come to terms with it."

_Ok_, Esme thought, _why not_. The situation—sitting on a couch in Dr. Cullen's living room—suddenly seemed too surreal to be real; she wanted to laugh. Maybe she was dreaming. Carlisle glanced up at Edward, who offered him a smile and a nod.

"Edward and I…we're not human."

"Not human," Esme repeated after a pause.

"No, and let me give you an example," Carlisle stood and with one hand lifted the couch—with Esme still on it—high above his head. He did it in such a smooth, fluid motion that it felt like an elevator ride. He carefully placed her back on the ground.

"You see?"

Esme didn't say anything for a moment, partially stunned and partially reliving the first time she felt fear around him. _I don't understand_, she thought.

"Let me show you something then," Edward spoke up. Esme's eyes grew wide.

"What do you mean?"

"You don't understand," he repeated back to her, "You're still not convinced. So let me convince you further—"

_I'm not sure I want to be convinced further_, Esme thought.

"Well, I'm not surprised," Edward responded, and Esme felt a chill wash through her, "Pick a number between 1 and 1,000,000,000."

"Pick a number?" Esme repeated.

"Pick a number but don't say it out loud—I'll tell you what number you're thinking of."

_Ok,_ she thought, _here I go: 1027._

"One thousand, twenty-seven."

_31, 298._

"Thirty-one thousand, two hundred and ninety eight."

Esme stared at him in disbelief. Carlisle sat down next to her, closer this time. She turned to face him, terrified.

"Esme," his eyes looked sad, "Don't be afraid."

"How can I not be?" she whispered.

"Have a little faith in me."

"So what are you then?"

Carlisle paused, looking deep into her eyes like he was contemplating something. After a moment he finally spoke.

"Humans call us vampires."

"Vampires," Esme's eyes grew larger and she shifted back from Carlisle, "should I be afraid?"

"Not anymore," Carlisle looked over at Edward.

"Not anymore," Esme repeated, "What exactly does that mean?"

"Esme, I know that you're going to be upset," Carlisle began, "and maybe angry, but I hope you know how much I care for you—I hope you can remember and have faith in that."

There was a moment of silence before Esme looked over at Edward and thought_, He's about to tell me that I'm not human anymore, isn't he? That's why I'm alive. That's why I have no bruises or scars from my fall and why I have trouble remembering…_

Edward nodded and Esme looked down at her hands. They suddenly looked so much paler than she remembered. She reached for one of Carlisle's hands and realized that their skin tones now matched.

She nodded her head repeatedly while a few moments passed and the weight of her new existence began to settle upon her.

"Edward," Carlisle broke the silence, "Do you mind giving me and Esme a minute?"

"Certainly," Edward stood and left the room.

"Esme," she was still looking down so Carlisle tipped up her chin with his forefinger and thumb, "please say something."

"I'm in shock," she whispered, "I'm torn. I'm just—I can't wrap my mind around everything."

"I know—I remember what it was like for me, though I had the advantage of already believing in the existence of vampires. For you—you've just turned into a mythical creature. It must seem like a nightmare."

They were quiet for a moment before Esme responded.

"But you're here, so it makes it a good dream at the same time."

Carlisle looked at her, turning over her words in his head.

"Do you see now why I couldn't stay all those years ago?"

"Yes—but you just did what you swore not to do then. You turned me into a…vampire."

"Circumstances were different."

"Hm," Esme furrowed her brow, "Well, I have two questions."

"Ask away."

"First, how long have you been a vampire? Second, how many people have you turned into vampires?"

"To answer your first, I have been a vampire for 265 years. I was a human for 23 years before that."

Carlisle paused to let his words sink in.

"You've been around awhile," she smiled.

"I have."

"And my second question?"

"I have turned two people. Edward and you."

"Two—out of all those years?"

"Yes."

"And was Edward your brother…as in, your real brother before you became a vampire?"

"No—In fact, we have more of a father/son relationship. We just tell people we're brothers because we look close in age. Plus it's the easiest story—we don't have to make up a dead wife. You see?"

"Yes, I suppose. But why haven't you turned more people? Why just me and Edward?"

"Now that's an interesting question to answer," replied Carlisle.


End file.
